


Let me, let me, let me

by Krytella



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, Dominance, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krytella/pseuds/Krytella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is awesome. There is no plot other than Lydia being awesome and in charge and sex things happening. Written before season 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me, let me, let me

**Author's Note:**

> So a really terribly long time ago, [the_ragnarok](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok) mentioned wanting Lydia/Stiles bondage and sounding fic. I only succeeded at half of that, but oh well.
> 
> I have never seen an episode of Teen Wolf. Everything I know about it is fic and gifsets. So this was a fun little challenge. Beta'd by [the_ragnarok](http://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok), who has actually watched the show and probably felt obligated after the unexpected "DO YOU REMEMBER THAT THING YOU ASKED FOR I WROTE IT FOR YOU" email. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Stiles might be freaking out a little. It was enough when Lydia kissed him over a pile of notes on translations from Latin, just when he thought he was getting over his thing and could maybe be normal around her. But now his _thing_ is a thing they're doing, for real, and she's still scary and brilliant and super hot and now she's touched his dick. So yeah, his brain might be breaking down just a skosh.

He's spent enough time reading Scarleteen to kill a normal person, so now he's just staring blankly at the computer screen and trying not to twitch too much. He has no clue what to do when she's around. People should come with instruction manuals. He can barely enjoy it when they're together because he has to decide where to put his hands and if he's had them on her breasts for too long and what if he put his hand down her pants and didn't touch her just right and it hurt or she got bored?

Last time they were making out on his bed, she grabbed his wrists and held them down for a minute. Maybe he should tell her how good that was, to not have to decide what to do. She's not any stronger than him, so it's not like he couldn't have stopped it if he wanted. He doesn't want to be out of control, he just wants. To not have to think so much. 

He thinks all the time, and not about what he's supposed to be thinking about. He's thinking about spells in class when he's supposed to be thinking about Hemingway and history of road signs when he's supposed to be driving and about werewolves when he's supposed to be listening to Coach Finstock and whether he's doing it right when he's supposed to be kissing Lydia.

So.

(He's tapping the desk. He stops himself.)

He's not going to be ashamed to want what he wants. That's not him.

\---

Lydia: is your dad working tonight?  
Stiles: yeah  
Lydia: you need help with math, I'm coming over  
Stiles: ok  
Stiles: can I ask you something  
Stiles: is there anything you want me to be doing? that im not?  
Lydia: work on your trig  
Stiles: im serious  
Stiles: :)  
Lydia: seriously, don't worry  
Lydia: is there anything you want?  
Stiles: you could h  
Stiles: oops, sent too soon  
Stiles: hold me down again  
Stiles: if you want?  
Lydia: you want me to tie you up? ;)  
Stiles: you know how?  
Lydia: I know a lot of things

\---

Stiles does actually get out his math book, if only to try to distract himself before Lydia comes over. He's nervous anyway.

"Um," he says when he opens the door. Lydia just rolls her eyes and heads to his bedroom without saying a word.

They do get a little bit of studying in. Stiles is pretty sure Lydia's leaning into him deliberately, pressing their shoulders together.

The third time she asks a question and he just stares blankly, she smiles.

"You're not concentrating."

Normally that would tick him off. He's sick of people telling him that he just needs to focus, that if he tries harder he can just will away the ADHD. That kids are over-medicated these days and all that. He knows she doesn't mean it that way, though. She gets it. She's just enjoying how much she can affect him.

"Shut up," he says, leaning his shoulder into hers.

Stiles turns to look at her, which lets Lydia kiss him.

He's not going to lie, he likes it when she does that. She knows how much he's into her. Nobody's been into him this way before, though. And they might not really be dating but when she goes for it he feels like she wants him.

Lydia has nice lips. She kisses with just a little tongue, holds her mouth so he can't open his too wide. He doesn't have to ask if she does it because that's the way she likes to be kissed. He's learning.

Her hand is on his jaw and it feels good, her holding him there, though Stiles still doesn't know what to do with his hands, still lying there awkwardly on the desk over his half-finished homework. Her teeth scrape gently along his lower lip and he wants to whine into her mouth, rub himself against her. He's hard, embarrassingly so except that's what she likes. Getting him ridiculously worked up.

She breaks away and reaches for her backpack.

"Get on the bed?" She says over her shoulder, like it's not an order. A part of him wishes it was, but he ignores it. Not the point right now.

When she turns back around she has a coil of thick, purple rope in her hand. This isn't the kind of thing you find lying around in the garage. It's obviously meant for bondage.

She sits next to him on the bed. The rope hangs from her hands like a promise.

"So. Is it okay if I tie your hands together? If it's not working you can tell me to stop any time."

She doesn't look nervous. Stiles doesn't know how she manages that. He feels like a math problem under her gaze. The good thing about that is that Lydia is awesome at math problems.

He shrugs. "Sounds fine."

"I think you should take off your shirt. Won't be able to later. Not without cutting it off."

She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s showing her teeth, which Stiles has gotten very used to but usually it’s Derek growling at him. On Lydia, it's pretty hot.

"You just want to be able to threaten me with a knife," he jokes like that didn’t send a thrill of fear down to his toes.

"Yes."

He pulls off his t-shirt. Not that he wouldn't sacrifice it for orgasms. But knives. That's serious, even for people like them that see a lot of blood thanks to their idiot werewolf friends. Before he thinks any more about it, he holds his wrists out towards her.

The rope is wrapped around itself in a bundle. Lydia uncoils the center, leaving the rest in loose loops and then dropping the whole thing to the bed. He watches her grab both ends, wondering what it's going to feel like. She runs the entire length through her hands and then brings the doubled rope to his wrists.

"Turn your hands," she says, and he twists his wrists until she stops him when the insides are facing. Her orders are pragmatic, dispassionate. It would be hot if she was using a porn voice, but he can only expect so much.

The rope goes around a few times, a wide band, then around itself between his wrists. As she ties the two pieces together he feels caught. Every time she touches his hands it sends a jolt through him.

Lydia puts a hand to his chest and shoves, and he goes, flipping back to lie on the bed.

"Put your hands above your head."

There's nowhere to tie him to on the bed. He lifts his hands and feels again how snug the rope is. Snug, but not painful. She's good at that. Stiles doesn't want to think about anyone else she might have practiced on. Maybe she learned online, tied up chairs and lamps until she was confident. Maybe.

He has no idea what should happen next but he doesn't have to. She's looking at his face, then down over his body. He's never felt so much like a piece of meat. Like he's on display for her. He might not be Scott or Danny but if that's what she wanted she'd have it. Well, not actually Scott because Allison and not Danny because gay, but he's sticking with the idea. She's got this look like she's going to eat him and that is. Not. Bad.

Lydia pushes on his hip and he wiggles further onto the bed. She's on him, then, straddling his hips and kissing him hard. Her hands are hot where they scrape down his sides, not quite ticklish like he would have thought. Then she grinds down onto him.

He's not thinking of anything but the pressure. Stiles is pinned, hips and lips, and he can't think of anything else. It's perfect. Except maybe the fact that he'll come in his pants if she keeps it up for very long. The way her body is rolling against him, the buttons of her shirt digging into his bare belly, the dart of her tongue against his lips. He doesn't need anything else. Except maybe to avoid the embarrassment of coming right now.

"I'm," he says into her mouth.

"Hmm?"

"If you don't want me to come you should maybe stop. Something."

She laughs against him. "Boys."

Then she's sitting up and unbuttoning her shirt. She shrugs it easily off her shoulders like it's no big thing, green lacy bra underneath, then unhooks the bra behind her and pulls it off.

Stiles can't breathe for a moment.

He's reached under her shirt before, but he's never seen her all the way like this. Her breasts are small and pale and he suddenly knows what he'd do if he was doing things. He'd touch her, feel her soft skin, but he can just lay back and imagine right now. That knot of worry that's usually in the pit of his stomach, about whether he's doing it right, still hasn't appeared.

Now when she presses against him he can feel her nipples harden against his chest. It's brief and she doesn't roll her hips like she was before, but it's still intense, leaving him gasping as she pulls away. He probably looks like an idiot, a fish with his mouth open. He can't get himself to worry about it much though.

She starts touching him again. It's exploratory, like he's some kind of science experiment, or a book she's trying to dissect. Her fingertips run light over his upper arms, them harder, then her nails. He can't help but twitch at the shiver that last sends through him.

"You like that?" she asks like it's a rhetorical question, and he nods anyway, and fingernails scrape down his chest. She keeps going, leaving a mess of crisscrossing red lines over his skin. His muscles are quivering. He doesn't want her to stop, doesn't want to get away, but he's pulling against the rope around his wrists instinctually. That feels good too. Knowing he's not going anywhere. That he's right where she put him and there's no way he can screw this up because she's taken away his power to.

"You have a beautiful mouth. Has anyone ever told you?"

Lydia rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. No one has ever told him that.

"Do you want to go down on me?" she continues.

"I don't..."

She smiles. "It's fine, you don't have to. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

It's kind of hot how she sounds like the embarrassing yet useful kind of Sex Ed manual your dad shoves into your hands when you're twelve, neither of you meeting each others' eyes. "No. I just don't know how." He can feel himself blushing.

"I can tell you what to do."

He doesn't want to look too eager, but he probably does. "Yeah, please."

"You like to be told what to do, don't you?" She bends down to whisper against his ear. "You like to be given orders."

"Yes, he manages.

"Yes, miss," she corrects.

"Yes, miss."

Lydia sits back and wriggles off the bed. He cranes his neck to see her pulling green lacy panties down her legs. Her skirt is so short he can almost see... stuff. Almost.

"Be a good boy and do what I say." She smiles as she crawls up him.

Her crotch is in his face, then, and wow. Stiles has seen plenty of porn but he didn't expect a real girl to be so... bare. There's a little triangle of strawberry blonde hair above soft-looking skin. He takes a deep breath. She smells like skin, like human, not bad but real. Something about Lydia made him expect her to smell like flowers and perfume.

She runs her hand through his hair as she settles her knees on either side of his head.

"Just lick up and down."

One of her hands strokes his head as she holds herself open with the other. He pokes his tongue out tentatively between her labia. She tastes sharp, somehow, and he likes it. He takes a breath, collects himself, and gives her a good lick from bottom to top.

"Yes, good," she whispers.

She presses towards him until his lips touch her. He keeps licking, face mashed against her. She's soft, so soft, though he can feel her bones, too, can feel that she could grind on him hard enough to hurt.

"Good boy," Lydia says.

Stiles basically whimpers into her at that, keeps licking although the muscles of his mouth are starting to ache in ways he didn't know were possible.

"Do you know where my clit is?" she asks.

He thinks he knows, maybe, he should know but with his mouth mashed into her he can't see anything. This is too much like a test. He tries to nod.

She can probably tell he freaked out over that, because she starts petting his hair again. "Show me with your tongue, I'll tell you where to go from there."

So he puts the tip of his tongue above her opening, where he thinks it should be (it's all a lot of different folds of yielding flesh there, confusing) and she says a little higher, then to the left, then "suck," then he does. She hasn't told him to use his tongue so he pulls her clit between his lips as far as he can, then lets up, then sucks a little more.

"Yessss," she hisses above him, "Like that."

The rocking of her hips tells him all he needs to know about the speed she wants. He sinks into it, not thinking about what's right or wrong or how he would be graded. Just Lydia.

His tongue might be about to fall off but he's good, he's giving her what she wants. He's never stopping. She's moaning a little and grinding into him harder than ever, rubbing herself off on his face. And Stiles isn't even in a hurry. There's an ache of arousal but everything else is so distracting and... right.

Lydia's hand scrabbles at his hair as if she's trying to grab onto it but it's too short. He thinks maybe she's going to come and then she yells and her body curls down towards him and it's. Yeah. Good.

After her body stills, she scoots back off his face and sits on the bed next to him.

"Perfect," she says, leaning down to kiss him.

The bottom half of Stiles' face is damp.

"You're so good. So good for me."

She smiles and strokes his wet chin. He's smiling back, high on her pleasure, her release. They sit there like that for a minute, him still on his back with his hands tied in front of him.

"Want me to jack you off?" she asks like it's no big thing.

Stiles just blinks at her for a moment until he can collect himself enough to nod. Lydia has definitely done all this before. She knows what she's doing. He trusts her.

Her hand skims down his chest and belly until she's resting it _just_ next to his dick. When he gets tired of staring at where her hand isn't and looks back at her, their eyes meet.

"Would you like it if I did this?" says Lydia.

She sits up higher on her knees and reaches for his neck with her not-dick hand. No pressure, just her gentle touch, but it feels like a threat. A threat from her is no threat, though, and his heart is drumming faster but it's excitement and peace all at once. Thrilling but safe.

Stiles nods again.

Lydia's hand stays at his throat, still gentle but unmistakeable, as she finally, finally touches him. Her grip is firm, harder than he uses on himself. She just holds his hard dick for a minute. It's perfect torture. He doesn't know whether to look down at her hand on him or over at her smile, her pink nipples and the way the band of her skirt is digging at her waist as she bends over him.

She starts moving. Slowly, so slowly (Stiles touches himself fast and light) and so intense. Part of him wants to squirm away, but he’s glad that part of him isn’t the boss. It’s almost too good to handle. He does move, in spite of himself. Not running away but wiggling. He wants to hide his face. It’s so exposed, her watching him like this. Watching him lose control, all because of her.

He turns his head so he doesn’t have to look into her eyes.

“How’s this?” she asks.

“Fine, good. Just a lot,” Stiles mumbles into the blankets.

She keeps up her pace and it’s both not enough and too much. He’s got that buzzing feeling, like maybe he’s going to come, or maybe he’s never ever going to come. It’s confusing.

Then Lydia moves. She straddles his thigh, leaning over him with one hand on his dick and one still at his throat. His pulse moves against her hand and – oh. She’s grinding on his thigh, wetness that’s partly hers and probably partly his own saliva. Her taste is still on his lips.

He comes like a shock, unexpected.

When Stiles is ready to notice the world again, she’s still looking down at him, smiling. He smiles back. She leans off the bed to grab a sock from the hamper and hands it to him. Lydia gets things. Lydia is the best.


End file.
